


Gentle Touch

by tomatopudding



Series: With a Thousand Sweet Kisses (I'll Cover You) [32]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: Prompt: A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: With a Thousand Sweet Kisses (I'll Cover You) [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420288
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Gentle Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Find the the kisses prompt list here.

The drive to the bookshop is silent except for the purr of the Bentley’s engine. Crowley is preoccupied by the holy burns on his feet that refuse to heal, trying his hardest not to wince outwardly or hiss his pain every time he needs to push harder on the pedals. For his part, Aziraphale is lost in contemplation. He hugs the bag of books to his chest and stares open-eyed but without focus, mind racing. He has always known that Crowley had a certain...fondness for him, but the demon had never before done such an act that was completely for Aziraphale without any benefit for himself. He had willingly put himself in danger, both by bomb and by church, just to save Aziraphale. Of this, the angel was certain. There was no other reason for him to have been there, to have redirected that bomb. And that idea, that Crowley would put Aziraphale’s safety above his own, was mildly frightening. Aziraphale had done that himself for many humans over the years, but it was his  _ purpose _ after all. But Crowley was a demon, a tempter. Not that he wasn’t capable of protection--a handful of frightened but living children smuggled aboard the Ark come to mind. Aziraphale’s confusion about Crowley’s true motivation is just feeding his confusion about his own feelings. He’s allowed himself to admit his own fondness for Crowley for quite some time, that feeling skirting just on the edge of something else, something too big to ignore but that still remained unspoken and unthought. Aziraphale was dangerously close to thinking it. Part of him wanted to.

“Your stop, angel.”

Aziraphale jerked from his thoughts and found that they were stopped in front of the bookshop. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, “Would you...like to come inside, my dear?”

Crowley was about to refuse, Aziraphale could see it, but then the demon shifted and his entire face crumpled in wince.

“Crowley!” gasped Aziraphale, “Your poor feet! You must let me fix you up.”

Crowley’s protests fell on deaf ears and he was soon on the sofa in the back room of the bookshop. 

“It’s fine, really,” Crowley said as Aziraphale bustled around collecting things, “s’just a flesh wound.”

Aziraphale returned with his first aid supplies and deposited them on the small table. 

“A  _ holy _ flesh wound,” Aziraphale tutted, “and my fault.”

The angel lowered himself carefully to the floor, sitting back on his heels, taking one of Crowley’s feet into his lap. The demon seemed unable to resist, his eyes wide and breath short as Aziraphale slowly removed the snakeskin boot. Aziraphale, gently brushed his fingers on the reddened skin with miraculous intent. Crowley let out a strangled noise of pain as he felt Aziraphale’s holy energy touch him.

“Apologies, dear,” Aziraphale soothed, pulling his fingers away, “I can’t do much for it, I’m afraid.”

“S’alright,” winced Crowley, grip tight on the upholstery of the sofa.

Aziraphale knew that the human methods probably wouldn't do much good either, but it didn’t hurt to try. A gentle wipe down with a dampened cloth, an ointment to numb against pain, a soothing cream for the burn, wrapping in a soft linen bandage. Then on to the second foot for the same treatment. Through it all they were silent, but it was a comfortable sort of silence borne from long acquaintance. At some point one of them set the gramophone going and a gentle jazz tune permeated the air. Aziraphale gently placed Crowley’s bandaged feet on the floor.

“Thank you,” Crowley half-whispered.

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath and looked up at the demon. Crowley had put aside his sunglasses at some point and in the dimmer light of the bookshop his eyes were more honey-golden than sulfur-yellow. Not for the first time Azirapahle found himself thinking of those eyes as beautiful. Slowly so as not to startle, Aziraphale rose to his knees and shuffled closer. He saw Crowley’s throat bob as he swallowed.

“Aziraphale,” he said, “I need to tell you...that is...I…”

Gently, Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s face in his hands.

“My darling Crowley. I know.”

Then they were kissing and it was like coming home. Even when they parted they didn’t truly part, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, reveling in each other’s closeness without needing to see each other.

  
  



End file.
